Will You Remember Me?
by Skylark3
Summary: Mina hates the thought of destiny and all that it brings, but when she uncovers something unusual at the local subway, she finds herself given a choice between Fate and freedom...


Disclaimer: I do not own Sailormoon, as it is the property of it's  
respective owners. I claim absolutely no credit for any of the  
characters in this fic.  
  
Will You Remember Me?  
By Skylark  
Rated PG  
  
----------------------------  
  
I think it could have been worse. No - I know it could have been. What  
do they always compare you to... those poor, starving children in  
Africa or India or someplace like that. But at least their lives were  
fairly straightforward. Eat, work, sleep... they may have been utterly  
miserable but nonetheless they always knew exactly where they were in  
life.  
  
I know, I'm being selfish again. I shouldn't, I really shouldn't...  
but I can't help myself. It's like one of those times when somebody  
offers you an absolutely mouth-watering chocolate. You know it's bad  
for you, but it's impossible to resist... Sorry, I'm getting off track  
again.  
  
It's just that sometimes I want something so badly I can't think of  
anything else. You know the deal. I get the faraway eyes, the vacant  
expression, even the drool. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the  
night and realise I'm even dreaming *literally* about it.  
  
Sure, I knew what I wanted. I wanted a lot of things, I still do. I  
wanted world peace - how often has that been said, I wonder? I wanted  
everlasting happiness, friendship and honesty. I wanted eternal love.  
Who wouldn't? But of course, I had to be realistic. It was obvious  
that none of that would ever happen - at least not in my lifetime.  
Maybe in several million years time when humanity might be all but  
wiped out of existence, but not now. Never now. The present world I  
lived in was full of imperfections. You name it, it had already  
happened. War, sorrow, violence, drugs... they were everywhere. In  
every country in the world, just about. When I was little I used to  
block my ears every night as my parents listened to the newsreaders on  
TV. I never wanted to hear about all the horrible things that occurred  
with each passing second. I hated it, really I did. I still do.  
  
Where was I? Oh, yes. My dream was to be a singer - I had often  
pictured myself standing high on a stage, waving to an adoring crowd.  
I used to imagine I had a million devoted admirers calling my name,  
wanting my autograph and throwing me compliments left and right. I had  
no doubt my determination would have been enough to put me on the road  
to fame... there was only one small, barely significant detail I  
couldn't overlook. I wasn't exactly the world's greatest singer.  
Actually, truth be told, I was pretty pathetic as far as vocal skills  
went. Not that it was exactly a requirement in this age of remarkable  
technology, but to me it felt wrong to pretend to be more than I was.  
Those imaginary fans of mine had loved me for who I was, not an  
artificial image or a false concoction invented on a whim.  
  
I tried telling myself that it probably wouldn't have been worth it,  
anyway. As they say, fame is flitting. Fleeting, I mean. I would  
probably end up worse off in the end. But I longed for stardom all the  
same. That was what I dreamed about every night, fantasies of being  
loved. Being envied, even. There it was, my selfish streak again. But  
maybe I wasn't being quite as selfish as I assumed. Perhaps I really  
wished for fame as a device to help me achieve my long-term goals.  
Yep, the unachievable ones. It just didn't make sense.  
  
It drove me crazy, this unfulfilled ambition of mine. I had not the  
slightest clue what to do about it. I'd never put any thought into  
what else I wanted to do with my life, and as the final few years of  
my schooling approached, I found myself falling into despair. What in  
the world would become of me? I felt so young and vulnerable, knowing  
instinctively that I was not nearly ready to be cast into the harsh  
world of reality. Though it was still years off, I realised I would be  
able to cling to my parents for only so long. Then I would be truly  
alone, and that I dreaded more than anything else at all.  
  
On the odd occasion I went into rather philosophical moods in an  
attempt to find out why I longed for success so much. Perhaps it was  
because I felt lonely already. I had friends, certainly - and I had a  
wonderful love for my parents (well okay, so my mother got on my  
nerves a little) - but there was always that emptiness within my heart  
that never left me. What was it I needed? I evidently thought I needed  
to be constantly surrounded my people, ever the centre of attention.  
Me, in the spotlight.  
  
I mused that it may have been the result of my being an only child.  
Maybe my parents had given me too much attention, could that be it?  
Though it peeves me to be falling back on stereotypes yet again, it  
might have well explained my tendency to be somewhat selfish in my  
ways of thinking. But maybe desire was a good thing. Desire is, after  
all, the foundation of determination and persistence - and that in  
turn leads to achievement and victory. Being miserable would never  
lead to anything useful, of that I was certain.  
  
So I dreamed on, making my ambition widely known.  
  
***  
  
Yet as the months passed slowly by, I quickly came to realise  
something was missing. I felt... lost, for lack of a better word. Lost  
to myself, just another lonely girl in the midst of millions of  
others, all waiting for something to come along and set us apart from  
the rest. Or perhaps we were just looking for a friend. Someone in who  
to confide all our troubles and fears, who would be there simply to  
*listen*. I often felt that way, I know. There were times when I just  
needed to blurt out my feelings to whoever happened to be in the  
vicinity at the time, hoping they'd understand me just a little. But  
of course I held my tongue, too afraid of what they might say. People  
make such rapid judgements based on as little as a single word or  
action. I was scared they'd defile me, cut down my opinions as quick  
as - well - anything quick.  
  
In a huge city like London, it was hard to imagine oneself as an  
individual. I'm sure you know the feeling - simply being overwhelmed  
by the busy monotony of everyday life. It's the feeling of having no  
control over your destiny. I felt pressured into accepting the  
opinions of others simply because there was nothing else to accept.  
Society is strange that way.  
  
Oh, I'm doing it again, aren't I? I'll try to stay on track.  
  
***  
  
He was simply *there* one day. He was sitting inconspicuously enough,  
alone on the end of an old bench at the hectic subway station. I was  
on my way home from school - I swear it was only by a coincidence that  
I sat down next to him. I'd been too preoccupied to care for much else  
than my test result that day. I had passed - barely. As I waited  
miserably for the train to arrive I thought of how my mother would  
react yet again. I love her, really I do - but at times she and I find  
it hard to get along. And then, envisioning her angry face wasn't such  
a difficult thing to do.  
  
But eventually I had to stop wallowing in self-pity and look up from  
the ground. It was only then that I noticed the man seated on my left.  
  
For a while, I could do nothing but stare. Here was a guy who seemed  
to be the picture of sadness. He sat hunched quietly over, his head in  
his hands so that strands of hair spilled forward to hide his face.  
Apparantly staring intently at the ground, his despair was as obvious  
to me as if I had felt it myself. I guess I did, in a way - though  
only over a test paper. But this person looked as if he had lost the  
world. Maybe more.  
  
I don't think he saw me gaping - he was too lost in his world of  
misery. Almost eerily, I found myself feeling overwhelmingly sorry for  
him. Why should I have cared? He was only another in the sea of  
billions. Didn't this kind of pain hit everyone sooner or later? Yet  
somehow, I knew it didn't. Whatever this man had been through - I  
certainly never wanted to experience it. Perhaps... perhaps I should  
have said something? Ignored him? I was at a loss for the right thing  
to do.  
  
But it was then that my train pulled up to the platform, and I found  
my desicion made for me. Once again. Did I really have no control over  
my life? Perhaps the man felt that way too. And I'm sure he didn't  
like it either.  
  
***  
  
He was there the next day, and the next. The seat beside him was  
always empty, but I didn't sit in it again. Always the same, always  
wrapped up in that deep sadness I had noticed the first time. As the  
days went by, he didn't seem any happier, only barely content to go on  
living within his own little world. I often wondered what he was  
thinking, during those minutes at the station. It made me curious, I  
admit - and strangely, also rather guilty. Who was I to pry into the  
lives of others, just because I felt like it?  
  
But intrigued, I *had* to find out more. Though at first I ordered  
myself to ignore him, I found my eyes drawn to his seat more and more  
with every passing day. I must have been the only person who noticed  
him at all - the other masses simply walked on by or stared off into  
nowhere while awaiting their trains. It wasn't as if they were  
deliberately ignoring him, only that their eyes seemed to pass him  
over without registering his presence. Strange... my attention was  
becoming focused on him like an arrow to a eyeball... Or was it  
`bullseye'?  
  
Still, it occurred to me that he may have been sitting there for  
longer than even I knew. How could I know that I hadn't passed him by  
before, like all the others? Who knew how long I had been catching the  
train while letting my eyes deceive me? For all I knew I might have  
been exactly the same as the rest of the crowd. Perhaps it was only  
because I had sat in the ever-empty seat that I had noticed him. Or  
maybe I was different from the rest.  
  
Even as the idea occurred to me, I pushed it scornfully to the back of  
my mind. Me, singled out? What a joke. It was what I longed for every  
minute of every day, but it was never going to happen. Fame was not  
easy to come by, and I had no illusions as to my chances of success.  
  
- Do you know, I just thought of something. Throughout all the times I  
saw him there, I never once saw him catch a train...  
  
***  
  
Well as you would guess, the months went on - each seeming longer and  
more hectic than the last. Exams came and passed without any  
remarkable change, and I still found the time to marvel over the man  
at the station. A million questions were dancing around in my head by  
this time - some of them only mere observations. Not that there was  
much to observe - for I had still not seen his face, always hidden by  
his hands and the hair that spilled carelessly over them.  
Nevertheless, I hesitated to break the spell that seemed to hang over  
him - I guess I was scared I might somehow make it worse. That would  
be disasterous. I even felt uneasy about the empty chair to his right  
- something almost repelled me from going near it. I could even have  
said I was afraid of something - something inevitable - and I knew  
without a doubt it was something I would once again have no control  
over.  
  
He never noticed me - if indeed he was aware of anything outside his  
own thoughts. It upset me, in a way. It was becoming clearer and  
clearer to me that I wanted to see his face - just once. I wanted to  
sit down and talk to him, discuss what was hurting him so much, ask  
all the annoying questions which were continuously hovering around in  
my mind. And maybe I would be unselfish.  
  
For I wanted to help.  
  
***  
  
But just as I made up my mind, everything fell apart. One otherwise  
perfectly normal day turned suddenly into ruins. Approaching the train  
platform after school, I knew even before I got there that something  
had changed. With a deep, sinking feeling in my stomach, I made my way  
through the throngs of people, not even knowing why I felt so  
depressed. And there it was, staring at me as if mocking. I found  
myself faced with not one, but two empty chairs. I had expected only  
one to be vacant.  
  
It felt wrong, somehow, to see only a gaping hole where there ought to  
have been a person - one man in particular. My heart had already been  
low, but now I thought I could barely feel it altogether. It wasn't  
sadness - not yet - only a queer kind of meaningless gap which ought  
to have contained more than numbness. Whether or not it was because of  
this that made me sit in his chair, I don't know. I suppose it didn't  
matter - as I sat, the feeling of wrongness only increased. It simply  
wasn't *right* for me to sit here - not now. Not after *he'd* sat in  
this very same place. Not after I'd gazed at his hunched form for  
countless days and sympathised with him even though I hadn't a clue as  
to what he was so upset about. Not after all this.  
  
Feeling more alone than I had in quite a while - which was saying  
something - I remained seated for a few minutes, gazing vacantly off  
into space. I was aware of my train pulling up to the platform, yet  
for some reason couldn't bring myself to move. Obviously I cared about  
the mysterious man more than I had realised, but I couldn't understand  
why he should be so strangely anchored in my mind. Indeed, even as I  
sat here now I could imagine him still sitting here, lost and alone.  
Just like I felt now. But also, I could readily see him in a glad  
state of mind. I could easily picture him talking, laughing and acting  
the fool as if he were the happiest man alive. I didn't need to see  
his face to know that he was capable of this, though one would have  
found it hard to imagine from the way he had first come across to me.  
  
I wished once more that I could have the chance to talk to him, but  
something told me he wasn't going to come back again. He'd been here  
too often, too precisely - I doubted he would miss a single day,  
although why he had wanted to sit alone at the platform in the first  
place had always been beyond me. No, he wasn't coming back. Which left  
the question - why was I sitting here? It had been a sudden impulse of  
mine, a whim, and now I was left awkwardly pondering the reason.  
Because, you see, the chair was perfectly normal - even if my  
instincts told me something was wrong, I was pretty sure it didn't  
originate from the chair. If there had ever been anything unusual  
here, it had left with the man. Perhaps it was all only my  
overreactive imagination running wild again, but it seemed a little  
too pronounced, too vivid to be only a careless notion.  
  
Finally, I caught on. There was something strange still lingering  
about this area, all right - even though the man had left. And it was  
not the chair in which I reclined - but the one beside it. The one I  
had sat in when I had first noticed him. The chair towards which I had  
earlier harboured an uneasy sense of forewarning.  
  
Now, I thought at last I understood. It had *always* been empty, save  
that very first time. It was as if something was deliberately causing  
it to remain bare. But why, and until when? There must have been a  
reason. Perhaps whatever was driving people away was waiting for  
something. Or *someone*. Like me.  
  
Now that I'd got that idea in my head, it wouldn't leave me. I didn't  
like it. In frustration I stood, checked my bags and headed for the  
open doors of the train. Then, slowing my pace a little, I looked  
back. I had to. An old lady wearing furs and beautiful jewellery had  
just seated herself at the place I had left. Where *he* used to sit.  
Where he *used* to sit.  
  
Involuntarily, my feet came to a halt. I was dimly mindful of my train  
pulling away, but I doubt I would have caught it anyway. I could feel  
my heart beating quickly as it did - now I would either have to face  
whatever it was that lurked within the chair, or simply wait and try  
to ignore it. My first reaction was to opt for the latter - I was  
positive that once released, the `chair-thing' would never go away.  
I'd never felt quite so positive about anything before. Yes, I was  
scared of it, though I had absolutely no idea what it was. Even  
thinking about it made me feel once more like there was a hand guiding  
my every move, ordering me about like a chess piece. I didn't like  
chess, and I didn't like the idea of having my life being somehow  
preordained. That's what it felt like, right then.  
  
But I was smart enough to guess that if I left then, the chair - and  
whatever haunted it - would simply go on existing. Sooner or later I  
would have to face up to it. At last, after what seemed an age, I  
changed my mind. I slowly walked over, and sat down.  
  
***  
  
And it was just a normal chair again. I would have laughed - I did  
laugh, in fact, which earned me a rather angry glare from the lady on  
my left. I didn't care.  
  
Still, I knew something had changed, though whether for good or worse  
I wasn't certain. Just the act of my sitting down had seemed to cancel  
the effect of the `chair-thing', but there was something else, too.  
Racking my brains, I tried to figure it out. Could be tricky.  
  
Well, I had always been pretty sure that the empty chair had been  
something out of the usual - just not as important as the other one -  
though it wasn't important any more, now that it no longer was  
continuously occupied. And they both had something to do with Kunzite,  
who might have...  
  
"Kunzite??"  
  
"Young lady, if you're going to act like a fool, kindly do it  
somewhere where the rest of the public doesn't have to see you!" It  
was the old woman beside me, reacting to the manner in which I had  
suddenly jumped to my feet and punched the air triumphantly. Actually,  
I couldn't blame her -however, it didn't stop me smiling.  
  
"Sure!" I grinned even wider. "I'll be off then, shall I?" With that,  
I rushed away from the woman's gloomy frown, running lightly down the  
length of the platform toward the exit. I no longer cared about my  
train. And I definitely didn't care about what people thought of my  
actions. Not any more. Because now I remembered.  
  
I still didn't know why he was sitting there at the station. I didn't  
even know whether he recalled anything. All I knew was that somehow  
the chair had set off my memories - perhaps some random enchantment  
had caused it. Maybe he himself had done it - because the chair was  
next to him. The chair had been empty. So if he remembered... he still  
wanted me! Still needed me! And there *was* someone in the wide  
universe who would notice me. It pained me now to think of how blind I  
had been until the last minute or so. But even without my memories, I  
had been drawn to him - and I hadn't even seen his face.  
  
Now, seeing his face was the first thing on my mind. Of course, I  
could find him easily enough now that I remembered how... he wasn't  
that far away, at any rate. It was strange to feel so light and worry-  
free for once - for at least in this lifetime it was the first time I  
could have said that I didn't need to worry about the burdens of  
mankind. That would come in it's own good time. For now, I had a goal  
to accomplish.  
  
***  
  
I caught sight of him on the low bridge a few streets away. He was  
looking down into the water listlessly, seeming if possible to be even  
more depressed than at the station.  
  
If I had been running fast before, this would have to be a personal  
record of mine. For a moment I thought the speed of my dash might even  
lift my feet off the ground - to tell the truth, I wouldn't have been  
surprised if it did. But of course I came to a rather exhausted halt a  
few feet short of my goal, almost tripping over my own feet in my  
eagerness to at last break the ice.  
  
"Kunzite!" Out of breath and panting, his name came out a little  
desperately, but he turned. I was about to fling my arms around him,  
yet something made me hesitate instead. I'm not sure why - perhaps it  
was something in his expression that stopped me.  
  
I honestly don't think my explanations can do him justice. He looked  
even more handsome than I remembered. White-blonde hair and acute eyes  
of silver stood out the most from him - a sharp contrast from the  
everyday faces in London. But since when had I been a supporter of  
conformity? His tall, muscular body showed even now the signs of a  
warrior's instincts - it was in the way he stood, the way he held  
himself, even when relaxed.  
  
Now, when he laid eyes on me, I think he winced. I began to feel a  
little more uncertain of myself - did he hate me? For doing nothing?  
For waiting so long without a word? Or was it something else?  
  
I didn't know what to say. For one brief, tense moment we stared at  
one another. I'm not certain what Kunzite was thinking, but I was  
waiting. Waiting for an answer to a question that had never been  
asked. But I'm not so good at holding my tongue under stress, and it  
seemed now was no exception.  
  
"Do you remember me?"  
  
For the longest time there was silence, and the sharp, grey eyes  
remained locked into mine. As the endless seconds dragged past I drew  
in a shaky breath and held it. Eventually, Kunzite's eyes dropped to  
the ground and he shook his head as if to clear it of lies. His reply  
was plain and simple. "No."  
  
Though his voice was as sweet as satin or silk (or something along  
those lines), it was the answer I had been dreading. But he didn't  
turn away, didn't leave. I guess in hindsight this alone must have  
meant something, but I was panicking by now, attempting in vain to  
accept his answer.  
  
"What - what do you mean, you don't remember me?" I blurted out in  
astonishment and exasperation. "Me! Mina! You know - you must know!  
You have to know something - maybe you don't realise it yet, but -"  
  
I cut myself off short as the object of my fascination raised a hand  
in my direction. I was amazed to see it shaking a little. "Hold on...  
Mina." My name sounded so wonderful on his lips, it was impossible to  
imagine that he might have forgotten it.  
  
"Yes..." he continued, and here my heart soared in hope. "Yes, no, I  
don't know!" To my surprise, the man I knew as being so strong and  
sure crumpled to a heap on the ground before me. It was wrong -  
terribly wrong. Just to see him in such a state nearly broke my heart,  
but I could find the courage to do no more than remain standing there,  
trying in vain to find something to say. How ironic that my throat  
seemed to choke up with tears at that moment. And so I remained  
silent, though a good deal of my brain was screaming at me to bend  
down and comfort him.  
  
"You're the reason I was going to end it all." he murmured into his  
hands, strain sounding in his voice.  
  
I thought my ears must have deceived me, but still could not manage to  
find my tongue. 'End it all...?' Those words instead echoed through  
my mind. I dearly hoped they didn't mean what common sense told me  
they meant.  
  
"But now you won't let me have even that small victory, will you?" His  
shoulders began to shake with the effort of holding back tears.  
"Because I can't bring myself to leave you alone, if there is still a  
chance... You, the girl who haunts my dreams, make this the last  
vision!"  
  
And at last I think I understood, and was moved beyond explanation.  
Kneeling down, I reached out and took his hands, holding them away  
from his face. Finally I managed to find my voice.  
  
"So I'm a dream, hey?" I asked him, smiling. "That sounds interesting.  
Well, I don't know what I did in all those other dreams, but surely  
if I have to poof off as soon as you wake up, you'd want this to be a  
really good one, wouldn't you?" I leaned down so that my face was  
directly opposite his and blinked. "So cheer up!"  
  
It seemed to me then that something clicked in his expression, but now  
that I'd started, the words kept pouring out. "I mean, you must  
remember *something*, don't you? That's good - do you remember our  
promise? That we'd never forget each other, even if it *is* only  
through something as vague as a dream. At least I know you haven't  
broken it - I don't think you'd ever do that. I know I wouldn't."  
  
I sighed. "But I understand. If you can't remember, you can't  
remember. I still don't really know why I did. But wait, I'm boring  
you, aren't I?"  
  
During the course of my outburst I had become more and more caught up  
in what I was saying and had paid no attention to the man in front of  
me. Now, I found I had once again run out of things to say, and my  
eyes traced their way back to Kunzite. I watched in bewilderment as a  
peculiar expression crossed his face - a moment later, the man who had  
seemed so sad and gloomy a few seconds before burst out laughing.  
"Now that's the Mina I know!"  
  
This was the last thing I'd expected. "Huh?"  
  
Kunzite rose to one knee, then slowly stood, never letting go of my  
hands. He winked. "It seems to me that I've been doing everything  
wrong, haven't I? So let's wipe the slate clean. Let's see... your  
question? I believe my answer now ought be... of course."  
  
Saying that I became the happiest girl alive at that moment would have  
been an understatement, of that I'm certain. It was the first time  
I'd seen him smile in, well - a lifetime. I beamed back at him readily  
enough. "Okay then! Hey - since you're feeling better, why not treat  
me to some icecream?"  
  
Considering everything, I think he would have been justified to  
protest. Still, he let me drag him off at a run down the street. When  
we passed the subway station, he stole a quick glance at it and  
smiled.  
  
"You know, Mina. You'll promise me something, won't you?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Will you remember me?"  
  
***  
  
And yes, I still want to be a singer. But it doesn't mean everything  
to me any longer. Once, I clung to that dream because I hoped fame  
would bring me the love I needed. Now, I have something better - I can  
be loved and love in return.  
  
I still believe that some dreams are simply too wonderful to ever come  
true. That doesn't keep me from living in hope. I'll always be  
dreaming, and I'll always remember. I suppose I never really forgot  
Kunzite - he lived in my heart for all those lonely years. But then  
again, my greatest dream came true. Perhaps now we can begin to make a  
difference.  
  
And perhaps destiny isn't so bad, after all.  
  
-------------------------------  
  
^^ ... You know, I've always thought that the people who consider  
themselves to be selfish are usually the least selfish of them all. It  
certainly applies in this fic of mine - I don't think dear Mina could  
ever be selfish if she tried!  
  
So, what did you think? I wrote this story at a similar pace to "I'll  
Always Remember", as I received several requests for more. Thank you  
to all those who emailed me - I hope you enjoyed this story also.  
Even if you didn't, I'd love to hear your opinions, criticisms or  
general comments. You can email me at jadeskylark@hotmail.com  
  
-- Love, Skylark. 


End file.
